Better Than the Other
by Fire The Canon
Summary: She hadn't loved him then, but when she lost him, she realised he was much better than 'the other'. Now, it's too late.


_**Written for Lizzy (SiriusMarauderFan) for the Ultimate Writer's Challenge (1/5 gift fics - Rose/Scorpius - 'Start Over' by Imagine Dragons)**_

 _ **Written for Ollivander's Wand Shop Challenge (James Potter - 11inch - write about a Slytherin)**_

* * *

 **Better Than the Other**

The empty space beside her was drowning. She hadn't slept properly in months, waking up every hour, wishing he was there. On the nights she could sleep, it had been through tears or her mother sitting beside her until she there was nothing left for her to feel.

She screwed up; she knew that. She couldn't decide if she wanted him or not. He was a good person, despite his family's reputation, and had not deserved how she'd treated him.

Why had he stuck by her for so long, trailing after her, begging her for attention she couldn't give him? He'd loved her for who knew how long, telling her over and over, asking her on dates, wanting to spend time with her.

It had become so pitiful that she'd accepted an offer for a date just to stop him asking. Her father's words still rang firm in her mind that day she boarded the train, playing over and over.

 _Don't get too friendly with him, Rosie._

But oh how he'd wanted it. He'd wanted it so much that for a while, she fell for it. At fifteen, they kissed and at sixteen they did a lot more than that - a secret even now she would never reveal to her parents.

He'd treated her like a queen, doting on her, and loving her. And all that time, she'd had eyes for someone else. It had been a year of deceptiveness. She'd watched the other from a distance, longing, yet knowing he was a bad idea.

The other was dark and mysterious, handsome and rough. The other was older and the bad boy type. Yet she fancied him like every other girl in the school. The only difference was, the other fancied her as well.

It had been a year of misery, of longing and regret. Of deceitful actions, of losing her virginity to someone she really didn't love.

That longing had turned to reality, and before she knew it, she was in his arms, sneaking into corridors and empty classrooms to be alone with him. Her boyfriend never knew, he never found out. She should have ended it there before he got too hurt, but she didn't.

Perhaps she'd liked the mystery, the sneaking around. Perhaps that was why she kept him around for another whole year.

It was an endless cycle of lying and cheating and lying and cheating. Her cousins found out eventually, threatening to tell her parents what was happening if she didn't sort herself out. They were furious, but at seventeen, she knew better than everyone. She knew what she was doing and she'd deal with it.

By this time, the guilt over what was happening vanished and turned into a mechanical process of public appearances with her boyfriend and lust-filled nights with the other.

It was working perfectly until she caught the other in bed with another. She was a pretty girl, and endowed in all areas.

A screaming match ensued and she then discovered there had been plenty of others and she was simply another notch on his belt, just another plaything. She shouldn't have been as upset as she was - for wasn't she doing the _exact_ same thing? Leading her boyfriend on, having him think she really loved him? But her heart had been broken and she wanted him to pay. So she exposed him. Sent his pictures with multiple women to the _Prophet_. The gossip section didn't care much for a no-name wizard and his many lovers, but she felt deep satisfaction in humiliating him.

She shouldn't have done that, no. She hadn't considered the consequences of her actions. The very next day, a detailed recount of their affair was put in the paper and that _was_ interesting. The daughter of two war heroes leading two young men on for years. They had a field day in humiliating her and her family.

Worst of all, her boyfriend found out. There was yelling and shouting, tears and accusations of betrayal. All true… all very, very true.

And so now she is here, lying in bed, heartbroken in knowing she'd made a terrible mistake. The other was a lover; a man who knew what she liked and found new ways to please her all the time. But her _ex_ -boyfriend was a man. He treated her as one should be treated; he bought her flowers, truly loved her and would never have hurt her like she had hurt him. It was a shame it had taken her this long to realise who the right man was for her.

Now, it was too late.

"Rosie?" There was a knock on the door and had she not heard the deep voice from the other side, she would have assumed it was her mother coming to see how she was. It was her father, however, coming to sit beside her on her bed. "I heard you crying, Rosie."

It was nothing unusual, nothing new. She'd been crying for weeks now, almost non-stop. She hadn't seen _him_ since the article, despite many attempts. If the Malfoys hadn't hated the Weasleys before, they certainly did now, and she'd drawn her whole family into the matter. They were all being blamed for her stupidity.

Her father stared at her through the dark, obviously unsure what to say. He'd not spoken to her properly since the incident and she suspected he was a little ashamed. He'd raised her better than that, taught her the value of friendship and good relationships. It had shocked him when he read the article.

"I'm… fine," she mumbled, wiping her eyes.

He nodded, offering half a smile. He stood up. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

She nodded. She only needed _him_ back to tell him she was sorry and that she did love him. It had just taken her years to discover.

Her father left after that and she was once again left alone to drown in all of her mistakes. The hours ticked by and no sleep came. Midnight, past midnight, three o'clock.

The house was silent apart from her muffled sobbing. She could visit him again, but he knew the response. She wasn't welcome at the Malfoys anymore.

Morning came and she still didn't move. Her parents gave up trying to talk to her, her brother embarrassed by the amount of attention her behaviour was causing him. When was the last time she'd even left her room?

Another day passed with her staying in bed. As midnight hit once again, her eyes on the empty space beside her, she moved. Her body ached from not doing anything for so long, but she had to do something. Even if it was rejected again, she had to try.

Her owl - little Hilda - sat on her perch and was none too impressed to be woken up when she tied the letter she'd just scribed to her leg. "Take this to Scorpius," she murmured.

The owl gave her what could only be an amused look.

"I know. Just try."

She went back to bed as the owl flew from her room and into the night sky.

She hadn't expected anything to come of the letter, for she'd sent many more before, Hilda returning with nothing. It must have only been an hour or two when she was woken to the sharp claws of her owl trampling over the blankets. Instinct had her reaching for her wand, followed by a loud hoot from Hilda.

Eyeing her warily, Hilda stuck out her leg where a letter was attached.

She sighed. This time it was returned, unread.

With a heavy heart, she removed the letter and put it on the bedside table. Enough heartbreak had happened tonight; she'd dispose of it in the morning.

Morning came and she woke to a warm, summer breeze trailing through her still open window. The sun was fully up and a rare occasion, there were no clouds. She rubbed her eyes, blinking a few times before her eyes fell on the unread letter. Sighing, she picked it up, took her wand and was about to burn it when something caught her eye.

 _Rose Weasley._

That was her name. That was _not_ her writing.

She tore the the letter open, her heart pounding in her chest as she read it. The hope lasted for only a few moments and she let out a frustrated cry.

… _meet me in your garden within an hour of receiving this letter. I'll be there to listen._

She threw it across the room, almost hitting Hilda on her perch. Why hadn't she opened it last night? Now… now he would think she was just messing with him again.

"Rosie?"

It was her mother this time, opening the door with concern. "Are you okay?"

She turned, tears streaming down her face. "I'm fine!" she snapped.

"Rosie… Scorpius is here."

Her eyes widened, her heart quickening once more. Never, in the three weeks since it had happened, had she gotten out of her bed as quickly as she did then. She wore unwashed pyjamas, her hair was a mess, but she didn't care. She flew down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the living room, standing before the blond-haired, grey-eyed man she'd spent weeks crying over.

Her father and brother, shifting uncomfortably where they stood, moved into the kitchen. Her mother came down the stairs and followed them.

"Scorpius -" she began. "Let me explain. I -"

"I'm sick of your explanations, Rose!"

Rose. When had he ever called her Rose? She swallowed.

"I loved you. I did everything for you, and for _years_ , you lied to me. I've spent the past weeks trying to figure out what I did wrong, but I've come to the conclusion that it was all you. _You_ were wrong."

She couldn't argue with that; it was true. So she stood there, listening.

"I never wanted to see you again after what happened. Never wanted to hear your name. But when your letter came last night - one of about twenty - I thought 'maybe she actually is sorry. Maybe I should listen.'"

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't stop them.

"So, I Apparated here and waited, but you never showed. So I assumed you must really like hurting people. I was about to go home, but then your father opened the door, wondering what I was doing. And I figured, while I'm here, I may as well tell you how it is."

She'd never once seen him so angry before. He was always calm and gentle, peaceful even. All those times he'd been rejected for the Slytherin Quidditch team, he'd never once got upset.

"I'm sorry." It was a pathetic excuse, she knew it, but she had nothing else.

"Why did you do it, Rose?"

For a while, she said nothing. Could she tell him the truth? It would hurt him even more. Would it just be better to blame it on herself?

No. No more lying.

"You… you seemed so desperate, Scorpius," she said, her voice soft. "Like you really liked me. And… and I felt sorry for you."

His expression hardened.

"So I started going out with you, and I'm sorry, I used you. I know it. I knew it all along."

"So, you truly fancied MacMillan?"

"I… everyone did."

"He used you. You know that. He uses everyone he touches."

"We're a perfect match then, aren't we?"

"He didn't deserve you, Rosie."

She stared at him, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. He'd spoken so softly, surely she'd misheard him. What was he saying?

"You _really_ hurt me. You know that. The way you treated me was horrible, and I'll never forgive you. But, Merlin, I love you. So much, and for some stupid reason, I still want you. But, you say you never loved me -"

"I do, Scorpius! I do!" Suddenly, she was filled with hope and overwhelming love. She stepped towards him. "I was an idiot; I only realised it when I lost you. Bartley, he… he was fun and nothing more. But you, Scorpius… you… you're a real man."

He stared at her and she could see the doubt in his eyes - she didn't blame him. He could never trust her again, and without trust…

"I'll always love you, Rosie. No matter what. But -"

"I understand." She turned away from him. "At least I got to see you one more time."

Silence fell between them.

"Rosie…"

She looked up, and this time, his expression was different. There was… longing.

"Part of me can't live without you, and that part wants you back. But… it needs to be slow. I need to learn to trust you again."

She stepped so close to him now, her mouth was less than an inch away. "I'll do anything," she breathed.

He nodded. "No cheat -"

"Please, don't talk about it." She pulled him towards her, feeling his desperation slide away as their lips met. It felt right, the kiss. How had she not been happy with just him before?

"I love you, Rosie," he murmured against her.

She said nothing. The kiss was enough. She loved him too.

* * *

 _ **This is not really how I view the Scorose relationship heading, but it's what the prompt inspired, and was an intriguing way to look at it. Lizzy, I hope you liked this!  
**_

 _ **Thank you to my dear Amber for beta-ing this for me. Much love.**_


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